


Life or Death

by PurveyorOfBadPuns



Series: Dean Winchester, Gender Issues, and Self Esteem [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Child Abuse, Dropping Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exorcisms, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, John Winchester's Bad Parenting, Learning Disabilities, Past Child Abuse, Prostitution, Sam is a Good Brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 19:58:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1317376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurveyorOfBadPuns/pseuds/PurveyorOfBadPuns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a more than two decade hunting career, Dean Winchester has yet to manage to memorize a single exorcism ritual.  Ever wonder why?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life or Death

**Author's Note:**

> Today we are taking a break from your regularly scheduled genderqueer Dean programming to talk about another issue: Learning disabilities. I just worry about the fact that Dean has been unable to memorize a simple exorcism after repeating it literally hundreds of times over a thirty year career, and then I thought about how John would have wanted him to memorize it and possibly tried to force him to, and then I started to worry about how he dropped out of high school and then this appeared. Enjoy. It is supposed to occur in the same verse as the genderqueer Dean fics (or maybe I should just call them the "Sam is a decent brother" fics) so I put it in the same series.
> 
> Warning: Mentions of past prostitution, child abuse (non graphic), swearing.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis imundus spiritus…"  Dean paused, trying to remember what came next.  "Uh, ergo–"

"No, no, no!"  John slammed his fist on the table in frustration, causing Dean to flinch.  "How many times, Dean?  This is life or death, you understand?"

Dean was near tears, put he pushed it back in because big boys don't cry.  "I know, Dad, I just–"  But he couldn't put words to it, couldn't make his dad understand how the words swam around on the page, and how they just faded to fuzz in his brain once he tried to say them, no matter how many times he struggled through sounding out the words in the unfamiliar language, no matter how late he stayed up with a flashlight under the covers trying not to wake Sammy.

"You just what?" John practically snarled, and Dean shook his head.  John sighed.  "Bed.  We'll practice more tomorrow."

"Yes sir," Dean said.  That night, he tried to pick up the paper with the exorcism ritual on it and just put it down again.  He couldn't do it any more; couldn't read that stupid paper one more time.  His dad sat him down the next day, and the next with the same results.  Eventually, John stopped trying, and Dean wasn't sure if what he felt was relief or shame.  He couldn't even do something this simple, how was he supposed to protect Sammy?

He threw himself into other aspects of hunting, letting his dad teach him how to disassemble and reassemble a gun, and then practiced it until he could do it in thirty seconds blindfolded.  He learned how to take care of the Impala, how to shoot with more accuracy than his father, how to be a mother, father, and bodyguard to his baby brother.

It was never enough to change the way his dad looked at him when he thought Dean couldn't see.

\--

"We pledge, uh, allegiance," Dean paused, looking up to his teacher to make sure he was right, and she nodded for him to go on, "To the flag," this part was easy, the flag was right there, "Of the United States of America."  He started to get confident that he could do this, that he could finish it.  "And to the…"  Crap.  Double crap.  He knew it started with r, but what was it?  His fingers itched to open the little book his teacher had passed out to every member of the class, the one that he was supposed to be studying over the weekend.  And he had been; he'd read it through so many times he thought there was no way he could forget it.  But the minute the book was gone, it just seemed to evaporate.  "Revolution," he guessed, and yeah, that was an American word, wasn't it?  But the teacher was shaking her head and he started to hear some snickers from the back of the class and his face flushed.

He refused to say another word until the teacher sighed and said, "You can sit down, Dean."

Later that day, when he was sitting by the school building at recess, trying not to think about how the other kids had laughed at him, Dean overheard his teacher talking to another person.  A man, Dean had seen him around whenever he got sent to the principal's office.  He thought the guy might be a social worker or something; someone to avoid.

Dean didn't pay it any mind until he heard his teacher say, "His name's Dean Winchester."  At the mention of his name, his ears perked up, and he heard, "I'd like to recommend that he be screened for learning disabilities.  He's really struggling with certain aspects of classroom activities, and I think he could succeed better with…"  He lost track of the conversation as they walked away, never learned what he could succeed better with, but he thought about what he heard.  He wondered what a learning disability was.  He wondered if he had it, and what that meant.

It didn't matter.  Dad came back that night with a new hunt in New Jersey and they weren't around for the next day of class.

Eventually Dean learned to mouth along when the other students said the pledge in the morning, never draw attention to the fact that he couldn't say it.  He even managed to learn that the r word was "republic," but never did get a handle on the rest.  He learned to scoff at exams, that he had to use muscle to get friends, make sure no one ever laughed at him again.  Show he was the biggest dog around and everyone would fall into line behind him, even if he couldn't memorize the pledge of allegiance or pass any of his classes.  He dropped out as soon as he could.  Took odd jobs in towns no one would remember the name of, some odder than others (not many legitimate businesses were willing to hire some itinerant dropout kid, even if he did lie about his age and use a fake ID, but a lot of truckers would pay for those pretty lips) to take care of Sammy.

And he didn't ever think about learning disabilities again.

\--

"Dean, why don't you memorize a damn exorcism?" Sam snapped grouchily, leaning back in his chair.

Dean flinched, but immediately schooled his features.  "What for?  I've got this," he said, pulling out the paper copy he'd made with a forced grin.

Sam sighed.  "You know it's not the same, _Dean_.  What if you lose it?"

"I won't, okay?" Dean snapped.

"Well, what if it gets taken, then?"

"I'm going out for a beer," Dean said, slamming the door behind him before Sam could get out another word.  He did not want to be reminded of why he was broken just now.

\--

Dean had almost died, as usual.  A demon took him by surprise the one day he'd forgotten to have his paper on him.  He'd gasped out the only two words of the exorcism that he could always remember, exorcizamus te, before he froze.  Sam showed just in time, shouting the rest of the exorcism and offing the demon before dragging Dean into the Impala, taking the keys, and driving them back to the crap motel.

"Fucking hell, Dean!" Sam shouted, shoving him up against the wall of the motel as soon as the door was locked behind them.  Dean didn't even try to resist him.  "What was that?"

"Didn't have my paper," he mumbled.

"You see this?  This is what I was talking about!" Sam spat, letting him go.  Dean stumbled over to the table, sitting down in one of the chairs and taking a long pull from his flask.  "This is why you have to memorize it.  Come on, just sit down and do it."  He slammed the thick, leather bound book down on the table in front of Dean, making him flinch.  "Right now."

"I can't, Sammy," Dean growled, not even looking up.

"What do you mean, you can't?  Come on, Dean," he said, taking the book again and opening it to a page, pointing at a verse in Latin.  "Here's the shortest one.  I know you always gave up on studying for school, but this is life or death.  Just try!"

Dean could have cried tears of frustration, because Sam had no idea how much he tried.  "Don't you get it, Sammy?  I fucking can't!"

"What's the problem?  I did it," Sam said grouchily.  Probably this wasn't the best time to be having this conversation, midnight after a big hunt, but it was too late to stop it now.

"Well, it was always easy for you, wasn't it?" Dean snarled.  He tried to mask the bitterness in his tone, but it came out anyways.  Years of watching Sam get straight A's without even trying, years of Sam being the better brother.

Sam looked puzzled.  He remembered how much time it had taken him to learn the exorcism by heart; he'd had to read it at least ten times.  "Not really, Dean."

"You don't get it, Sammy, do you?  You read your textbooks and the spells and it all just… sticks," Dean said.  "You don't know what it's like to spend an hour on a paragraph and come out with nothing.  Just fucking nothing.  And you don't know what it's like to stare at one of Dad's fucking exorcisms for hours and just get past the first line, and then you go to say it and it all evaporates and you're gaping like a fucking fish!"  Dean finished on a shout, clenching his fists so hard his fingernails left little half moons in his skin.

Sam paused and took a couple of deep breaths.  "You're right, I don't.  But Dean, this is life or death, man!"  Dean flinched.  "You need to know an exorcism, and you need to know it by heart, so if a demon gets you like that again you won't be stuck, or worse, dead.  I couldn't live with that."

"Yeah, Sam, that ain't gonna happen," Dean said stubbornly.  "I just told you, I just don't get anything when I read it.  I've tried, Sammy, but I'm just… something's broken up there, alright?" he mumbled, resting his head in his hands.

Sam thought for a long moment.  He knew Dean needed to learn an exorcism, but he just wasn't gonna be able to do it like Sam had, by reading it and mouthing it to himself until the words came naturally.  Then, a lightbulb came on.  "You did awesome when Dad told you how to take apart a gun, right?  Or take care of the Impala?"

Dean nodded warily.  "Yeah…"

"So, we'll do it verbally.  Repeat after me, Dean.  Exorcizamus te."

Dean groaned.  "Are you serious?"

Sam nodded, looking right at his brother's eyes.  "I'm serious.  Exorcizamus te."

Dean sighed, casting his eyes all around he room for a distraction.  "Exorcizamus te," he finally mumbled, a humiliated red.

"There's nothing to be embarrassed of, Dean.  Everyone learns differently," Sam reassured him, though it felt just too much like pity, and Dean didn't do pity.

"You can't give me this talk, not you, Sammy.  I practically raised you!" Dean exclaimed, standing up from his seat.  "It's my job to teach you things, dammit!"

Sam grasped Dean's wrist.  "Dean, it's okay to need help.  And I know you have trouble with that, believe me," Sam said with a little huff.  "But I'll be damned if I let you die because you don't know a damn exorcism, okay?  You're my only brother."

Slowly, Dean nodded, reluctantly lowering himself back into his seat.  Sam released his wrist and looked at him solemnly.  "Now, exorcizamus te."

**Author's Note:**

> As always, opinions expressed here are purely my own headcannon. Though the insider points of view are taken from some friends with learning disabilities, I have never been diagnosed with one. If you find something you disagree with, by all means let me know! I like to learn from my mistakes.


End file.
